


Pirate Spy Masquerade

by Louffox



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M, Pirate Masquerade Espionage, cliche as HECK, heist!, here there be snogging but not especially graphic, may post an additional piece with ed and tjelvar, pirates!, thank you to the heckin friends for this suggestion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: And there they were. The mob. The ballroom. Somewhere within the miles of silk and chiffon and felt and lace. Within all that glitter and bubbles, leather and suede. The laughter and heels on marble. Humidity and breathed air. Somewhere within all of that was the one Zolf was looking for.He would get those documents.
Relationships: Edward Keystone/Tjelvar Stornsnasson, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	Pirate Spy Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jet lagged and have breakfast crumbs in my keyboard. This is wholly unbeta'd and written in (checks watch) 3 hours, mostly on a whim. It didn't go exactly where I expected, but these things rarely do.

Zolf frowned down at the mask, poking a finger through one of the eyeholes. It seemed hardly large enough to see through. What a pain in the arse this all was. Far too complicated. He just wanted to sail to the new continent. But to do that, he needed some special supplies and modifications for his ship. Supplies and modifications that were out of his reach, as a pirate. So he needed some documents. And these documents were all generally strictly dated and labeled, but there was one source Sasha had found that had a very loose and open documentation trail- some Duke’s son gone Apollo. Only he’d been caught romanticizing around with some orcish archaeologist, so his father was keeping him indoors and throwing a masquerade to try and save face. And and and, but but but, so then, and so, etc forever. Complicated.

(“You romantic _scoundrel_ , Zolf, you’re enjoying this!” Hamid had accused him when Sasha had finally managed to explain it all, with a bit of help from Grizzop.

“ _What_? I’m not! What in the godless sky’s earth would make you think I’m enjoying _any_ of this shartpile of drama?”

“It’s just like your books! Except in real life, and happening to you! How exciting, I’ll help you with your costume. Now, you’ll need a mask-,”

“Uh, n _oooo_ , no no, I’m alright-,”

“It is actually part of the job,” Sasha said apologetically. “Pretty sure you gotta do the mask to to the mask-queue ball stuff.”)

So here he was, in a carriage, on his way to a bloomin masquerade ball. This was not anything he had ever anticipated happening when he’d chucked his country’s flag overboard and strung up some blackcloth.

Worse still- because of the recent scandal with the orc, the Duke had paid a pretty sum to have most of the press pull back what they had on the son. They knew his name was Edward Keystone, that he was a paladin of Apollo, and that was about all. Not that a physical description would’ve worked much anyways, as they would all be wearing masks. Sasha’s information chain had been able to pass along that he would be wearing gold, and he would approach Zolf. This Keystone man had no desire to go to new lands. At least, not when it was by paperwork thrown at him by his father in an attempt to separate him from his archaeologist lover.

(Okay, maybe Zolf was enjoying this just a little.)

The mask looked back at him with empty eyes. It was a half mask, going over his nose but stopping at the tip, sweeping just under his cheekbones and leaving his mouth and beard exposed. An hour ago, he’d sat stock still as Hamid had gotten in close and done him up. He wanted to flap his hands at him and wave him off, but the mission, the mission, the mission. He sat and took it. The looking glass showed him the result, and the gruff, jaded, pirate-dwarf was all but gone. Odd. Hamid was actually quite talented at this.

They were approaching the gates. He could put it off no longer. Surprisingly steady hands flipped the mask over and brought it to his face, so silk ribbon and a touch of magic could hold it up. The eyeholes were surprisingly unrestricting, and it was shaped well. It felt odd to have something pressed against the bones of his brow and eye sockets, but not unpleasant.

 _Here we go_.

The invite passed over by his driver had been easy enough to secure, and they were waved in quickly. Too soon, the carriage rolled to a halt, and his door opened.

Down the steps- he was so glad Grizzop and Sasha had befriended Azu those months ago, and the powerful Aphrodite healer had been able to work some extra strength and grace into his legs- or the scarred residuums and glittering electronics that made up his legs. She had insisted on helping him practice dancing and work on his agility in preparation for this. He hadn’t planned on dancing, but on hanging back and watching to find Keystone, but she was so enthusiastic that he’d been unable to turn her down. So now he knew how to dance. Though he suspected some of the dances she’d taught him weren’t exactly the dances that would be going on in a posh-hell cliché London masquerade.

The building housing the ballroom was massive and leering, and he winked at a gargoyle far above, just in case it was a friend of Sasha’s. She’d said she would have folk in the area ready to get him out if things went sour. Up the marble steps, between the pillars that felt like the columns of some magic world- goodness, they really went all out on these things, the clichés were all appearing to be true- and entered the ballroom. He immediately accepted a flute of champagne with a gloved hand. Hamid had presented these black leather gloves to him last moment, realizing his scarred and calloused hands would be a dead giveaway.

And there they were. The mob. Somewhere within the miles of silk and chiffon and felt and lace. Glitter and bubbles, leather and suede. Laughter and heels on marble. Humidity and breathed air. Somewhere within all of that was the one Zolf was looking for.

Edward Keystone.

He started a slow lap around the room, trying to keep to the edges but not look to obviously like he was keeping to the edges. The champagne was too sweet, like juice, and he wished it was a bitter ale to strip the tang of anxiety from his tongue.

A flash of gold caught his eye. No, that was just a big earring. Wh- no, the flash of eyeglasses. How was he expected to do this? _You have to. You have to get to America_. He opted to stand still for a bit, searching. Maybe he should’ve accepted the Artemis symbol from Grizzop. This was the worst sort of hunt. He felt like he was standing out. Glaringly obvious, his finery a bit too dark, too much black and red, not enough silver and gold, the dark colors that usually hid him just making him a shock of colorlessness in the bright resplendency around him.

 _What would Sasha do_? Go up to the roof and chill with the gargoyles until the target appeared, then either drop a bomb or herself on their head. Try again. _What would Hamid do_? Useless- he couldn’t compare to Hamid, he wasn’t demure and charismatic enough, his laugh rough like a coughing corvid and not melodious, he would stand out. _What would Cel_ \- no. Azu? Azu wasn’t socially adept like Hamid, but she tried anyways, and had an honest earnesty that somehow worked. Maybe he could do that. Just stand close to a group and smile lots. Ask people about themselves. He thought he remembered something about people liking to talk about themselves, that might work. Or maybe he could just stay silent and follow the leads of those around him.

He slowly approached a group and stood somewhat nearby, in the group. This was… a bit better. He could barely understand what the speaker was saying- they had an accent and everything was a bit of a dull roar- but he laughed when everyone else did. Good. Alright. He could do this.

The room continued to swirl and move, but now the patterns were becoming a bit more clear. The champagne, airy and syrupy as it was, did help him relax a bit. He’d been there for an hour, maybe more, and hadn’t been found out yet.

“And what of you? I love your mask- and what you’ve done with your beard, those braids and gems are so clever! Who does your styling?”

Zolf realized the conversation had stopped and gone quiet, and then realized why, with a horrified lurch. Someone had been asking after him. The woman to his left, with a vulpine orange and blue mask, head tilted as she waited his response.

He had to respond. Right. Uh. What had she asked? His beard. Styling.

“I…” _I’m bad at lying, so I just try to not do that,_ Sasha’s voice stammered in his head, “a friend from Cairo is visiting, actually, and he did it for me.”

“What a charming friend! He doesn’t do commissions, does he?” the vulpine woman asked. “If I don’t do something new and exciting with my hair, I swear to the gods I’m going to just lop it all off.”

“I don’t think so, sorry. You could get your hair braided up, though. I’m sure someone-,” _the bog witch who braids blessings into hair is down by the port, not social, not good, not blending, something else-_ “around the… city… could do it.” Divert, now. He was already speaking slowly and with enough stops, he was going to get himself in trouble. “Does anyone else know anyone who does braids or will thread hair?”

“Just lop it off, darling. Go short. It’s very in, around the Parisians right now.” Someone else had spoke up, thank god.

“I’ve always wanted short hair, but I don’t dare- what if I don’t like it? I’m not sure I have the face shape for it.”

“If it’s what you want, try it. What’s the point in living if not for yourself? Life is short and complex, find pleasure in the things you can control. Like your hair.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

With a start, Zolf realized the newcomer who’d spoke up was wearing a gold mask. It only just covered around his eyes and the bridge of his nose, and his small sly smile was bared to the world. The sheen and curls of his hair, along with his golden and scaled outfit, spoke of richness and allure. He was tall. Effortless yet interested. And interesting. Eyes turned to him.

His eyes, however, had turned right to Zolf, and drug down his form, then back up, with clear interest and intent. When his eyes met Zolf’s again, Zolf tilted his head slightly and lifted an eyebrow. The man was talking again, asking someone, elegantly diverting attention elsewhere, and when everyone had turned where he directed them, he gave a small nod of his head to the side, and then slipped back out of the group, tossing back his champagne as he went.

Zolf gave him a moment, then followed.

“Hello,” the man said when Zolf met him near a small tower of drinks. He passed him a glass, which Zolf accepted.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Zolf said carefully, having though hard at what to say that could sound innocuous and normal to someone if he made a mistake, but hopefully would work to communicate with Keystone.

He inclined his head and smiled. “You looked like you were looking for me.”

Good. He knew. He let out a noisy sigh and set the champagne down. “Good. I was. God, this champagne just gets worse the more you drink it. I should’ve brought a flask. Now- where do we do this?”

“I could find us something stronger. Hmm- follow me?” Keystone said.

“Lead the way. Gods know I’ve got no idea anything about this place.”

They slipped away down a hall, up a set of stairs, and finally to a promising looking oak door. Keystone tried the knob- it was locked.

“I’m not very good at this, have you got any skill in picking locks?” he asked Zolf.

“Not really, but I could just do… here. Hopefully there’s no traps or anything,” he said as he pulled his glaive from a pocket and it caught fire. Keystone’s brows went high.

“You had _that_ in your pocket?”

“Did you think I was just happy to see you?” Zolf said flatly, rolling his eyes. “Friend of mine has some tailoring skills, sewed a bag of holding into my trousers.” He pressed the burning glave in the edge of the door and slid it down quickly, neatly severing the bolt, and then gingerly pushed the door open with the long weapon.

No traps went off, so they stepped inside. It was an office.

Keystone looked around for a moment, and made a small hum of triumph when he opened a cupboard to pull out a glass decanter and two glasses. He plucked the stopper off and gave it a whiff.

“Mmmm. The Duke has good taste,” he said, pouring them each a glass.

“Thanks,” Zolf said, taking a swig. He wasn’t a bourbon connoisseur, but it was much better than the champagne. Maybe fancy booze was something he would take interest in after all- he never understood what folks meant when they talked about oak, smoke, earthiness, but he swore he could taste a bit of smoke and clean fresh wood in this. Or it was the burned door still in his nose. “Not bad. I didn’t come here for brandy, though.”

“Right to it, then?”

“Yep. The party isn’t exactly my scene. I’d rather get what I need than beat around the bush,” he said briskly, walking over to the desk and scanning it’s surface, looking for where Keystone would find the papers.

“I like a man who can ask for what he wants. And this is what you want?”

“More than anything,” Zolf muttered, thinking of the arrest warrants, the old priests of Poseidon, the loss of his brother. London had nothing to offer him. He just wanted to be somewhere else. A fresh start. Even piracy wasn’t bringing him enjoyment anymore.

A hand on his elbow made him turn-

Oh. Mmmmph.

Er.

Wait. ~~No don’t. This is good too.~~

_Oh._

Keystone had turned him around and stepped right into his space, toe to toe, slid one hand under his jaw, and seized his lips with his. He was kissing him.

He was. Kissing? Him.

It was _nice_.

He didn’t realize how long it had been since he’d shared warmth and breath and pleasure with a person, and he picked right up like it had been only yesterday, tipping his chin up and going on his toes, twining one arm up behind his shoulder and using the other to balance himself with the desk behind him. He slanted his mouth against Keystone’s, dragging his lower lip over his, and then opening as Keystone’s tongue slipped out and traced the seam of his lips. He let him draw him in deeper, his breath stuttering as he used his teeth a bit, pleasant and bordering on comfort and hunger.

Keystone’s other hand slid down his side, over his hip, down behind him to gently press against his arse. He was less gentle when Zolf hummed his approval, dipping lower to cup his ass and tug him up. In one smooth, delightful moment of grabbing and squeezing, the taller man had lifted him up to sit on the desk, evening their heights out better.

The basal yearning had Zolf barely aware of him spreading his legs, letting Keystone step neatly between his knees to press their chests flush together, and their kiss deepened as they no longer had to reach for each other so hard. Now one of Zolf’s hands was in his hair, somehow even softer than it looked, and he twisted it around his fingers. The man’s hands found the ties of Zolf’s mask, neatly unthreaded them, and leaned back for a moment to remove it. Zolf did the same to him, revealing a face that was just as clever and alluring as he’d expected, and he arched back up to kiss him again.

He squeezed his hips with his knees, wanting more. Wanting all of this. Wanting… he wanted…

Papers. Wait a moment.

He slid a hand up Keystone’s chin and pulled back for a moment, two fingers against the man’s perfect bow lips, hot and firm from blood and life. His eyes fluttered open and he raised a brow, naughtily opening his mouth again to nibble at one of Zolf’s fingertips.

“Thought you wanted to get right to it?” he murmured, the brush of his mouth against the sensitive whorls of his fingers making Zolf shiver faintly.

Something wasn’t quite adding up here. He fought to think around the champagne, bourbon, nerves, and lust.

“What happened to the archaeologist? The one what you were in love with?” he asked. That wasn’t quite right. Not the question he needed to ask, but it was what his mind had grasped first.

“Who said anything about love? What archaeologist?” the man muttered dreamily.

Zolf’s eyes narrowed and he turned his hand so it was his thumb brushing Keystone’s mouth instead.

“What’s your name?”

“Oscar Wilde. My pleasure. And yours, if you wish,” he demurred.

“Wait. Hang on just- just a tic. You- you’re not Edward Keystone?”

“…no.” Now the man- _not Keystone_ \- was drawing back as well. “Were you expecting him?”

“I. Uh. So wait. You don’t… have papers. For me.” Zolf was staring at his mouth stupidly, trying to figure out when exactly this had stopped making sense.

“…Papers? Of what sort?”

Zolf pressed a hand to his chest and the man- not Keystone, not who he was looking for, some guy named Oscar- backed up obediently, immediately removing his hands and putting them up in a universal gesture of _I’m unarmed and backing off_ , which Zolf appreciated because he was wondering what happened now, he was in an office with someone he wasn’t here for and had snogged him and moaned into his hot mouth while wrapping his legs around his waist when he was supposed to be getting paperwork which he’d now told this stranger about and now what was he going to do he still had to find Keystone the real Keystone and what was he going to do with this man-

He drew his glaive and quickly stepped around the man so he was between him and the door. He could already imagine Grizzop laughing uproariously as he explained that he’d had to kiss him and then kill him, and Hamid’s disapproval.

_You’ve got to be arseing me, I really am in a cheap romance novel._

“What papers are you looking for?”

“I’m not telling you nothin’.”

“You’re going to kill me anyways, who am I going to tell? You’re looking for Ed? I can help you find him. For real, this time. Best not make any more mistakes- how many bodies do you think you can hide?”

Zolf stepped forward, and his glave lit up.

“Papers? From Edward Keystone, specifically? Papers you thought you could get from his father’s office, and you know about the archaeologist. So these papers are probably the ones for passage preparation to the new continent. I can help you with passage.”

“That’s enough.”

“I work for the meritocrats. For Apophis. I’m telling you this because- you could take that as a threat and even worse, because I technically work with the law. So I shouldn’t tell you that. But I am, because I want you to know that I don’t work for the law. The law works for me. So if you want passage to the new continent, I can make that happen. And these papers won’t work. Tjelvar is working with a few others to stop the travel, to get Ed out of here. The serial numbers in association with the paperwork will be cancelled once they realize Ed has run off with Tjelvar. The archaeologist, I believe you called him? This isn’t going to work your way. But I can make it work.”

Okay. Okay, hang on. Wait.

The man talked a good game, Zolf could give him that.

“So… you’re with the meritocracy?”

“Yes, but as I said, not in that I’m their blind lowly servant. I’m in information. I have a few groups of teams that I manage, mostly in discreet missions for information and eliminating threats before they become threats. I don’t care about a dwarf who for some reason needs to illicitly acquire paperwork to escape the country. In fact, I would consider a bargain here- I’ll help you cross, if you’ll take a few of my agents and work for me, and help me get updates on the going-ons over there. That way, you’ll know I’m honest and I’m not screwing you, because my men will go down with your ship. Also, I prefer to only screw those interested and non-disillusioned parties.”

Zolf blinked a few times. Who was this guy? Some meritocrat, a high-up, in intelligence? And now he was making puns about screwing and ships. Great. Just great.

Except the low smooth tone of his voice betrayed not a hint of tension or fear. He spoke slowly, with control, not the high ramblings of someone lying to save their own skin. And he had been wearing a gold mask with scales. Okay. He didn’t seem to be lying.

Maybe he was just insane.

“How do I know any of this is true?”

“Because I also knew about Ed and Tjelvar. And I’m not fighting you, because I know this option is much better.”

“You’re not even armed.”

Oscar Wilde’s mouth twitched into something like a grin before he let out a short whistle from his teeth, high-low-high-low, and the floor became flames.

Zolf jumped mightily, cursing, and then realized they weren’t burning him. An illusion. He had to admit, though not out loud, that it was good. The whole floor was writhing and flickering with flames, the light of it casting shadows under Wilde’s jaw and the glass of bourbon he’d picked back up and was sipping.

“I could show you an illusion of what Apophis looks like, if you’d like, but that may not convince you, as you’ve never seen the real thing and wouldn’t have any way to validate it.”

“This is fine, thanks.” Wilde shrugged and he made another whistle, and the fire disappeared.

“Come on. I’ll stay with you, so you can see I’m not going and telling anyone, and we can go find Ed. I’ve worked with Tjelvar once before, and one of his current allies- Howard Carter- I’ve worked around a number of times. They can vouch for me.”

This felt like a stupid idea. He should just kill him. But what if he was right, and the archaeologist lover was going to get the paladin out and the papers’ serial number was revoked? Then he’d never get to the new continent, _and_ he could potentially add enemy of the meritocracy to his rap sheet, if this man really was so high up in the government.

“Fine. Take me to Keystone- Ed- immediately.” Oscar picked up their masks and handed Zolf’s back to him.

“He is wearing gold as well, but he’s on the opposite end of the room. Or was when I last saw him.”

“Right to him, then. No detours. If I have to fight my way out, I will, and I’ve got a team that can crash in any moment,” he said, thinking of the gargoyles and hoping he wasn’t wrong. Wilde apparently believed him, or didn’t, but he simply nodded and gestured to the door.

“Together. Not a step away,” Zolf warned him, pocketing his glave and pulling out a short dagger to slip in his sleeve. Sasha would approve.

Oscar bent his elbow and held his arm out, and Zolf stared at it blankly. “Here. Take my arm, we can go down together. Just like we did actually have a lovely shag, and not a sadly misinformed but still delightful snog.” Zolf snorted, but took his arm and let him be led out.

True to his word, Oscar walked with him down the stairs, back into the ballroom, and across the floor. “Hmm. He seems to be dancing right now. We might have to dance over to him.”

“We _what_?” Zolf said disbelievingly.

“Mmmm. Do you know how to dance? I would prefer to lead, but I can play either role.”

“I- I. Uh. Are you serious?”

“Afraid so.” Zolf peered at him, but masked again, he couldn’t tell if he was serious. He appeared to be.

Whatever. If he was going to play cliché, may as well go whole hog cliché. He held up his hands for Wilde.

“You lead,” he said, resigning himself to whatever this would be. A dwarf with no left feet, no feet at all, just two prosthetics, and a tall government intelligence official. Sure. Why not.

It was actually… okay. Wilde was clearly a professional, and Zolf could only wonder _how many times has he had to sneak a pirate dwarf across a ballroom floor at a masquerade for an illicit meeting_? as Wilde expertly twirled them and led them through the dance floor. He felt like a cog in a big spinning clock, but not in a clunky, mechanical way. More like he was part of this. This was actually quite nice, Wilde’s hands in his, then on his hips, then twirling away, gesturing, following the steps, then back again. Zolf was never the most graceful even when he’d had two legs, so feeling like a fluid part of the crowd was a new experience, one he couldn’t deny a bit of delight in.

He’d never danced like this before.

(It reminded him of all the best parts of the ocean, the things he’d loved about the sea and the tide and the sky and the storms, everything that had made him fall in love with Poseidon with none of the clout and complexities that made it all go wrong.)

(He missed feeling like a part of something big.)

And then they were through the crowd, and he was breathless and trying not to smile so Wilde could see, but the glint in his eye and the smile on his lips as well revealed that he probably did see Zolf’s happiness. But he didn’t taunt or tease, just seemed to draw joy from his joy as well.

Who in hell even was this man?

Edward Keystone was in gold, yes, but he looked nothing like Wilde- hair short and yellow-gold whereas Wilde was brown-russet, round eyes to Wilde’s almond eyes, broad and built like a sportsman compared to Wilde being minimalist and lithe. Someone with half a mask of hieroglyphs was clinging to his elbow, whispering something to him, as he looked around with sad and hopeful blue eyes. He was also not actually dancing. Zolf looked around and realized with a flash of irritation that they hadn't needed to dance their way over. Oscar had just played with him. Fine, whatever.

It had been fun anyways, though he wasn't about to admit it.

“Ed! Have you been looking for someone?” Wilde called in greeting.

“Oscar! Who’ve you got there?” the man with the hieroglyph mask replied as Ed chewed on his lip uncertainly.

“A dwarf doing… espionage. Ringing any bells?”

“Uh. Oh. Hullo. I need to have a meeting with him, actually,” Ed said confidently. “Alone. It’s for… something important. Private.”

“It’s alright, Ed, we’ve got something else figured out. Did you realize- when you offered up your papers, if he tried to use them _after_ everyone had gotten you out of here to Tjelvar, they would’ve been voided and he would’ve been arrested?”

Ed’s mouth opened in an ‘o’. “I… Oh no, you’re right, that would happen! Da would void them as soon as he realized I was gone. I didn’t think of that! I’m so sorry, I… I can find you some different papers, or maybe you can get out before Tjelvar and I leave-,”

Zolf felt bad for him- he genuinely seemed to not have known, and wanted to make it right, but Wilde was already shaking his head.

“We’ve got another plan worked out, actually. It wouldn’t be hard for me to procure some papers to go overseas. I was actually thinking, we may all profit from this. Now, I’m assuming you have a vessel or some way across?”

“I do happen to be a sailor of sorts,” he said with a grin.

“Excellent. I can provide papers, if you take Ed, Tjelvar, Carter, and Barnes with you. Carter and Barnes are my agents. And as for Ed and Tjelvar- well, I admit I’m just a sap for romantics. And I don’t like Duke Keystone much. Him and his concepts of purity. Life is hardly ever pure, at least not by his standards. It turns my stomach.”

“That sounds good to me! I mean, I don’t know if Tjelvar wanted to flee the country or anything, he’s got his research, but maybe there will be digs and adventures we can do in the new country?”

“We’ll figure all that out. Introductions- I never actually caught your name, didn’t want to ask in case you worried I was out to get you again.”

“S’fine. I’m Zolf.”

“Ed,” the smiling Apollo paladin said brightly, if a bit unnecessarily.

“Howard Carter.”

“And I’m Oscar Wilde, but I believe we’ve established that.” He cheekily caught Zolf’s eye and casually ran a thumb over the corner of his lips, as if simply wiping his mouth, but Zolf felt himself blush and looked away.

And then had to look back. He'd promised he wouldn't let him out of his sight.

**Author's Note:**

> I might have to reread this because I have no idea what I just wrote. I just slammed the keyboard a lot. Whee. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ this all just happened.
> 
> Feel free to hit me with more stupid little prompts like this. I do love some cliche.


End file.
